Out There
by Kade Riggs
Summary: FF7 & FF8 crossover. Years after leaving Balamb, Zell's experiencing some of the backlash from his past while stubbornly trying to go it alone. What happens to his flyby life when someone comes along who actually needs him? Possible CloudxTifa later.
1. Getting Rough

AN: This is something of a new style for me. It starts out a little jerky, but it smoothes out after a bit. Anyway, please let me know what you think. Reviews are the best motivation to continue!

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Got _that_ feeling. The one that makes me wonder if I'm really awake. 

I didn't have any choice but to get up when my alarm clock went off that morning. The option of hitting 'snooze' and drifting back into dreamland for a few more precious moments wasn't available to me after I chucked the damn beeping box across the room, and it smashed against the far wall, leaving a dent where it made impact.

So much for getting back my deposit, assuming I actually made it to the end of the lease without getting evicted.

The shower was rarely warm. That morning was no exception. Early wake-up, no hot water. By the time I sprinted out the door five minutes late, I, Zell Dincht, was starting to wonder if maybe I was going to have a bad day.

When the boss fired me for being late, I was sure.

I hit the bar early that day, even for me. It was only seven in the evening, and hotter than hell. I'd been standing out in the sun for hours, just wondering around, getting dehydrated before I even started hitting the booze. I was the first customer to enter that night. It was nice. Dark, cool, quiet. Things wouldn't heat up until it got packed later that evening. But until then, I enjoyed the solitude.

Took a seat on a stool that creaked when I twisted back and forth on it, trying to burn off a little anxiety. The noise was loud in such an empty place. The bouncers hadn't even arrived for work yet.

The barkeep was a girl my age, maybe a little younger. She was hot, and she didn't talk much. I liked that. Sometimes I even liked the little looks she gave me that she didn't give any of the other regulars. The one that said, 'if you want my number, it's yours.' I got the feeling she thought I might like her, and kept coming back to spend my evenings casting casual glances in her direction when I thought she wouldn't notice, trying to get up the guts to actually speak to her. She gave me good deals on liquor, so every once in a while when I got in a friskier mood, I'd support any fantasies she might have with a wink or a suggestive smirk. But that night, I wasn't in the mood for play.

I took three or four shots from her straight off, just txo get myself a good start. After that I slowed down, nursing a beer or two, letting the evening drag on. There was a game on. A baseball game. With a mild buzz going, I thought maybe I could've played baseball. It probably would've gotten me a hell of a lot farther than martial-arts had. Seemed like all those wonderful fighting skills had gotten me was yet another pink slip from yet another grueling construction job.

I wasn't quite sure if I should've beeen happy or depressed about that. No job meant no money. No money meant no rent, and no food.

I shrugged, tipping the bottle up to my lips. Hell, I had a beer in hand, what the fuck did I care? Something would turn up. It always did. If things got really bad, I'd pack up and go looking for a tournament somewhere to fight in.

It'd been a while since I'd kicked the shit out of someone.

Hours passed, and the place filled up. Figured it must've been Friday, considering the rowdiness of the crowd, and the fact that there was a real band playing. That was good news. If it was Friday I could pass out for two days before the landlady comes to hassle me about paying my balance.

I've got a bad habit of chewing on toothpicks while I drink. I chew um till there ain't much left. Quistis always used to get on my ass about it, told me I'd give myself appendicitis someday. She said it one too many times, and I snapped at her to stay out of my business, quit trying to be my mother. I'd already had one of those. She died. Nearly took me with her. Still not sure I've recovered from it.

I've started to doubt I ever will.

I drank steady 'til midnight. Didn't move from my seat. Should've ordered onion rings, or something. I was starting to feel sick, and the beer probably wasn't helping. Couldn't remember the last time I'd had real food. Fuck, was I an alcoholic? The more I thought about it, the more I started to think I was. That worried me, but I decided that the idea of living my life on the straight and narrow worried me more, so I'd better just keep knockin' um back as long as they'd take my money.

I never touched a drop of alcohol before I turned nineteen. Was proud of it too. Those were the good old days when I ran full tilt into everything, tryin' to be a hero. Fuck, I was stupid. Should've known better. All the shit that went down--I should've seen it coming, should've been on top of it. Might've been, if I hadn't been so caught up in my dumbass kiddy dreams about making a difference.

I'm not really sure what I was thinking when I went to Garden at thirteen. Dropped out of school, decided to become a mercenary. Can't believe Ma let me. Why didn't she force me to stay in school? Maybe then I'd be close to graduating from a higher level institution, instead of drinking my life away. Maybe then my mother would still be alive, and I wouldn't be an orphan...again. I seriously doubt I could've turned out any worse. And it was all because of a decision I made when I was thirteen fucking years old.

Fuckin' stupid, that was. Really fuckin' stupid.

Sure, it'd been great for a while. I did nothing but train to fight for five years. A teenaged boy couldn't have had it better. Especially a kid like me. I was never too 'bright.' Math, reading, writing. None of that shit came easy to me. Fighting was the only thing I ever succeeded in doing. And I was good; damn was I good.

But 'good' doesn't pay the bills when you're washed up. Having real skills, an education, that's what makes money outside of being muscle for hire.

Not sure what time it was when the big jerk with long hair and about five buddies following in his wake started giving the bartender shit, but I sure as hell wasn't sober when it went down. I'd gone with a shot for that particular stretch. Hard shit. The hardest. That was what I'd ordered. I wasn't sure how it would feel going down my throat. Might've sobered up enough for it to register. Then again, maybe not. I was still thinking about it, taking my time, lighting up a cigarette so I could make my own contribution to the poisonous haze filling the place. Figured I was breathing the smog anyway, so I might as well get a shot of nicotine to go with it.

The big guy walked up to the bar a ways down the line. It said 'Tod' on his shirt. He looked like a mechanic, judging by his clothes. I was probably staring at him without realizing it, wondering if I could be a mechanic--thinking that fixing things might be right up my alley. I sure was good at breaking things.

"How's it goin', Sweetheart?" he asked the girl behind the bar, a freakish sort of grin on his face. I couldn't really hear him, just make out the words by watching how his lips moved, reading his body language.

I took a hit off my cig, replacing my toothpick with it as I inhaled deeply, watching the drama unfold.

The girl smiled at him, but it was fake, forced. She pretended she was busy wiping down the bar where some people had just left, but by the way she stood, kept her shoulders tight, I knew he was bothering her. Didn't know if it was because they had history or what. Didn't really care. Still didn't mind watching though. Figured things might get interesting. Hell, maybe the bouncer would have to come over and things would get _real interesting_ for all of twenty seconds. That'd probably just about make my week.

He kept talking, and her fake smile slipped off her face. I think she asked him to leave; she might've told him she was busy. It exploded into a short yelling match before she tried to walk away, coming down toward my end. She smiled at me, but her eyes were pleading, begging me to talk so she'd have an excuse not to go back down there and talk to that man. The guy was fuming to his friends about what a bitch she was, and since so many people were watching him, it was starting to sink in through my drunken haze that he might just try to start shit.

Real shit.

"How's your night going, Zell?" she asked, catching me a little off guard. I didn't remember telling her my name. Couldn't remember if I'd given her my real ID or a fake one the first time she'd carded me.

I shrugged. "Goin' better than my day," I started, leaving the door open for small talk, if only a very little small talk.

What could I say? I was a sucker for a girl in trouble. Must've been left over from my hero days.

Her brow creased slightly with concern that didn't look quite so forced, and she cocked her head slightly to one side as though ready to listen to the whole story, no matter how long it was. "Oh, yeah? Why's that, hun?" she asked.

Because I was stupid. I'd gotten fired because I was stupid. It also was probably the reason why 'Tod' was suddenly towering over where I sat, staring down at me coldly, ready to start shit...with me.

A quick glance at the horrified look on the girl's face told me both bouncers had taken their smoke break at the same time, so I didn't waste the motion in turning around to see if they were on their way over to toss these guys out. I was on my own. Hadn't decided if I was fucked or not yet, so I wasn't sure if I was going to try to worm my way out of trouble, or dive in swinging.

Then again, I really couldn't remember a time when I'd actually been smart enough to try to keep myself out of a pickle.

Since I'd been drinking for so long, I didn't have to remind myself to put on a poker face. I became the picture of malaise when my BAC got high enough over the legal limit.

I twirled my toothpick absently around the fingers of my right hand, holding my cigarette with my left as I leaned back on my stool to take a long look at them. "Something I can help you boys with?" I asked, blowing a stream of smoke in their direction.

Big and Ugly leered at me dangerously. "Yeah, you could say that, Pretty Boy."

I sighed, feeling suddenly deflated as I put out my cig in an ash tray and picked up my drink, finally throwing it back, finding that it didn't go down quite as smoothly as I'd hoped it would, especially since I knew I was _majorly_ fucked.

I'd been called a lot of names in my life, from Chicken-Wuss to Faggot. But there was _nothing_ that got my goat like 'Pretty Boy.' Knowing my own temper, things were about to get rough.

And all things considered, I really didn't have any complaints about that.


	2. Knock 'Um

"Get out of my seat, and stay the fuck away from my girl!" he practically spat in my face.

Get out of his seat? What, like I hadn't been sitting there all night? I knew for a fact his name wasn't written on the stool I sat on.

His girl? The babe of a bartender with a guy like him? Yeah...that made sense...

I knew better than to get up and try to stare them down. I wasn't a midget by any means, but I wasn't exactly going to impress any of these guys with my height--thanks in part to the intense high-impact training I'd started practicing at such a young age. I could do a standing back flip while I was sober, but making a slam dunk on a regulation sized basketball hoop would always be a stretch for me.

So I sat there, looking cool and disinterested. I was drunk, so it wasn't really that hard.

"You deaf, Faggot? I told you to get out of my seat!"

Heard him the first time. Didn't move. Was waiting to see what he planned to do about it...

He laughed, turning to his posse for support. "You guys see this sucker over here? Thinks he's tough." He turned back to me, a taunting grin fully in place. "Ain't that right, Faggot? You're a real man, aren't ya. Got a set of tags, gel in yer hair, and a tattoo on your face. You go around pretending to pick up girls that belong to other men. And maybe it's worked for you before, because they didn't want to get into it with a punk off the street. But I can see right through ya. You're too damn pretty to be straight. I think you're just waiting for someone to come along and really pound your ass. If you don't get out of my chair before I count to three..."

"I'll pin your ear to your skull, dislocate your buddy's knee, and break your other buddy's jaw before you get to three, Tod," I said real low, more as if stating simple facts than threatening him. "So, why don't you pack up your crew, and go pick a fight somewhere else? I'm here to get drunk, and that's what I plan on doin'."

I don't think he liked it that I didn't act scared out of my wits for his benefit. The fact that I told him off in front of all his pals probably downright irritated him. Not that I cared, really. I mean, seriously, they didn't call me crazy at Garden for nothin'. I was a fuckin' lunatic when the mood struck me.

"Get up," he ordered, his face turning hard.

"You ain't gonna like it if I do," I warned real low, dangerously close to taunting him.

"I said get..."

The first punch I landed was a left jab to his gut as I got to my feet quicker than he could follow. I knocked the air right out of him, and by no means did I stop there. For calling me 'Pretty Boy,' I made him even uglier than he already was. I rammed my toothpick through his left ear, and as promised, pinned it against his skull. Blood spurted from the wound, and I just barely spun out of the way before getting splattered. Then I helped a screaming Tod go flying over the chair I'd just been sitting in before I ducked a roundhouse one of his friends threw at my head.

I spun my whole body around low, close to the floor, taking my weight on one hand as I kicked out one guy's knee, and then hopped back onto my feet. Slugged another guy in the face before I jumped up onto the bar, briefly putting myself out of reach of the rest of them.

I took a short moment to do a mental rundown. I had incapacitated two of them for the time being--but Tod was getting up, and with his two remaining buddies, he was starting to close in on me, blood running down the side of his face.

Right then, no one else was joining in on the fray. The close-in spectators merely watched with mild interest, finding no qualm with three of them against one of me. The bouncers still weren't coming. Hell, for all I knew they weren't coming at all. Maybe they didn't figure they got paid enough to try to put themselves between me and those fuck heads.

I didn't have more than a few seconds to take my bearings before I had to get right back into it. They were coming on fast, and I didn't have much choice but to launch myself at the closest one, and knock him down before he could get to me. On the floor, I kept my weight on his chest and kept punching him in the face until my fists were slippery with blood. Normally, I don't think I'm quite so stupid. But then again, when I see red, sometimes I just bite down until I hurt myself. That was what I did then. Sat there and waited for someone to take a massive swing at me.

I expect that sort of thing from the cowboy, Irvine. He seemed like the type who'd get himself caught with his pants down like that. Then again, Irvine was always more of a lover than a fighter. Girls go for that, I guess. All the ones I ever wanted did, anyway.

I was still slugging him over and over again in an even rhythm when I heard the gun-shot like crack of something wooden breaking hard across an equally rigid surface, right before I felt the explosion of pain at the base of my skull.

I wasn't hit at the right angle to get knocked unconscious, but all of a sudden there was a whole galaxy of stars flashing across my vision, and for what seemed like half an eternity, I thought the shadows were going to close in on me, and I'd collapse right there. I wasn't sure, but I thought they might just kill me if that happened, so I fought hard to hang on.

From there, things slid downhill. I managed to get my ass off the floor, at last. But they'd already made a circle around me, and took pot shots at will while I stumbled around. My reflexes had slowed down, I could hardly get my head on straight before I'd get belted by one of them. Not that I didn't get mine. I did. Sure as hell, I did.

One of them grabbed me by the back of my jacket with both hands, and forced me over to the bar. He and Tod held me down by the arms and by the hair, forcing my right cheek flush against the slate colored surface while I struggled.

From the corner of my left eye, I saw the first guy who'd grabbed me pull out a blade almost as long as my forearm, and I briefly wondered if he was trying to compensate for a serious disfunction carrying around a hunk of steel like that. Took a minute to sink in that he intended to use the thing to remove my tattoo manually, and no matter how drunk I was, it was going to hurt like a real bitch. Never mind the fact that my face would be disfigured for the rest of my life. That part I didn't realize until some time later.

Somehow I don't think I really realized how it would feel to have the edge of a blade under my skin. It was painful, that was obvious enough. I never could've dreamed it would be that painful. It was cold, for one thing. That was what I noticed first. Then it felt sort of like getting a gigantic paper cut across my cheekbone, only bigger, the cut penetrating nearly to the bone. As I started to feel around with my right foot, looking for anything, and finding only a stool, I started to think absently that I was experiencing what it was like to get cut open like a holiday ham or turkey. Then, finally, I felt the soothing tickle of warm blood flowing back into my hair, my ear, over my nose, and even down my forehead. I started to wonder who I heard gasping in agony so close by, never thinking it might be me.

Guess I was just lucky I found that stool and kicked it hard into Tod, making him so briefly lose his grip the wrist he'd been twisting behind my back.

That was pretty lucky for me...

Not so lucky for the guy who'd been performing surgery on me, though.

So yeah, I definitely got mine that night. Took at least one more down for keeps, left more than a mark or two on the others before the cops finally came in and broke things up.

Was probably a good thing they showed. Too much longer, and I might've actually sobered up enough to kill somebody.


	3. Making Bail

I passed out in the back of a squad car with my hands cuffed behind my back. Came to later, when they dragged me out of the car practically by the scruff of my neck. Arms were asleep. Past pins and needles, and right into feeling completely numb. They hurt, bad, when the feeling finally came back. It didn't help that the cops dragging me to my cell weren't exactly in the mood to put up with any bullshit from a punk-ass kid. They probably thought I was struggling just because I could. They didn't know I got jacked in the head with a pool cue, and was struggling just to stay awake.

I lost consciousness around the time they threw me down on a cot in my regular cell. Didn't even remember them taking off the cuffs.

I woke up while it was still dark. Felt doped to the gills. Groggy, big head, couldn't feel my face. The muscles in my right knee were twitching in fits, and when I tried to touch my nose to make sure it was still there, I saw my hand shaking so bad I had to close my eyes so I wouldn't see it anymore.

The cops weren't so bad in Fisherman's Horizon. Not so bad at all. Hell, they left the lights down in the drunk tank most of the time, a fact that I'd been grateful for on more than one occasion. Some places I'd been, they left um on all night. And I'm not talking about regular light bulbs, I'm talking those big, florescent monsters. Those things can really make a guy sick, if ya know what I mean.

I wasn't the only one in for drunk and disorderly that particular evening. There was a kid, seventeen or eighteen I think, passed out on the floor on the other side of the cell. Initially, I thought it was funny. He was just lying there, drooling all over himself. I had a pretty good idea what kind of headache he'd wake up with in the morning.

Then I started to think it was kind of sad. There was no reason a kid that age should've been in the same situation I'd gotten myself into that night. He was far too young to be wasting his life the way I intended to waste mine.

Took me a good hour to get my ass up, wash some of the blood off my face at the sink, and then collapse again. By then I could hear them coming for one of us. Probably the kid. He probably had somebody out there with the means and the desire to bail him out.

I didn't have nobody. Not anymore.

The guard approached. Big guy, light skin. Couldn't tell much else about him, because he looked like a big blurry shadow from where I sat. There was another shadow behind him. Slight, tall, had tanner skin. I figured my cell mate had a girl who'd come to collect him.

Boy, would that've made me jealous most nights...

"Zell Dincht."

Who, me? Somebody came to bail _me_ out?

Hell just froze over, folks, no refunds.

"Here," I croaked weakly, forcing myself to my feet. I stumbled over to lean against the bars, squeezing two of the steel rods between my fists as I fought to stay upright with all the upper body strength I had left. My legs felt like Jell-O.

I think the guard was eyeing me, and if I'd had the strength I would've taunted him for it. Probably good for me that I didn't. Just would've gotten myself into more trouble.

"You're free to go, Dincht. You made bail. Step back while I open it up, and quit bleeding on the bars, kid," the guard snapped irritably.

I stepped back, almost falling over for my effort. The guard opened the door, and then side stepped me, so I stumbled out face-first. Probably would've hit the ground if I hadn't gotten caught by whoever paid for my freedom that night. And let me tell ya, whoever it was, they had a damn good grip.

Still looking stupid, I got hauled up to my full height by the hands knotted in my shirt.

"Jesus Christ, Zell. What the fuck happened to you?"

I knew that voice. It wasn't a girl. Wish it had been. Hell, if it'd been my dead mother back from the grave to smack me around for being stupid, I would've felt better about it. But _nooo_, it had to be _him._ Sir Loser-lot himself. Was it past midnight yet, or was I having two horribly shitty days in a row?

I turned my head, trying to get a good look at Squall out of the better of my two eyes. I tried to laugh, but the sound hurt my ears, never mind my head, so I merely settled for chuckling as I forcefully shoved myself out of his grip, and staggered away from him.

I gave a huge mock salute, irrationally entertained by my own antics. "Officer on deck!" I shouted, just seconds from falling in a heap, yet somehow keeping up the regulation stance engrained in me since childhood.

My sight remained blurry, but I thought I saw the guy avert his gaze in that pretending-to-be-embarrassed-by-my-own-status façade he'd perfected over the years.

"You don't have to treat me like a superior, Zell. You aren't in Garden anymore. I'm here as your friend. I came to get you out, take you home."

"Sir, yes, Pussy-ass Headmaster, Sir!" I bit out, hardly able to keep my face straight against the onslaught of my own drunken humor. The strangest part being that I wasn't really amused.

There had been a time when Squall and I had been cool. Not quite _friends_, but we'd had a certain amount of respect for each other. At least, I'd had a certain amount of respect for him. He'd always treated me like a child. We'd graduated in the same class from Garden, become professionally trained teenaged mercenaries for hire the same day. When crisis struck in the weeks that followed, upper management handed Squall more power than he could handle. For the most part he did surprisingly well with it, until the end. That was when I proved what _I_ was made of.

That was four years ago. A whole lifetime, it seemed. And my, hadn't things changed...

"Come on, Zelly. It's been a long night. Let's get you home, huh?" he offered, seeming to be offering the metaphorical olive branch. The only question on my mind was why _he_ was the one acting like I owed _him_ a favor.

Not that it mattered. I needed to get home, and I didn't have any cash to bail myself out. How _did_ I manage get myself into such predicaments?

I relented, shrugging like it was no big deal in a ditch effort to save face, and attempted to walk out under my own power. I didn't get far. I think I took all of three steps before 'Squally' had to get under one of my arms and help me along.

I was morbidly entertained by the inconvenience my old commander experienced as a result of the difference in our heights and frames. I leaned on him extra hard, making sure he'd have a backache for his trouble.


	4. No Going Back

We'd just made our way out of the station when, wouldn't ya know it, Miss. Hottie the Bartender came strolling across our path. She seemed a bit shy all of a sudden, blushing when I smirked in her direction. I probably didn't make a very pretty picture, so mentally I gave her extra brownie points when she didn't cringe at the sight of me.

"Glad to see you found him. What's your name again?" she asked, but not in my direction.

"His name is 'Shit Face,' and what do you mean you're glad he found me?" I demanded, making sure to put myself in the exact center of the conversation.

Because of the many references to the fact that I was short and carried an extremely boyish appearance for a twenty-plus-year-old, I'd always been a little sensitive about people talking over my head.

I didn't mean to take it out on her, though. I really didn't. Felt like a jerk when she looked to the ground in shame. Ah, well. Once a fuckup, always a fuckup.

"I went looking for you at the bars tonight, Zell. Marlene told me you were here," Squall informed me, speaking slowly as if I were retarded.

"He didn't know where the police station was, so I decided to come over and make sure he found it okay. If he hadn't, I was going to bail you out myself," she continued for him morosely. "I'm so sorry, Zell. What happened to you tonight, it was my fault..."

Heard Squall snort about that one. I looked up at him, clearly not amused by whatever he found funny about the events that had taken place that evening. Didn't stop him from saying it though. Never did.

Some guys just need to learn when to shut up.

"Oh, don't worry, Marlene. If it hadn't been in your bar, it would've been somewhere else. Dincht's got one hell of a short fuse."

I shook my head, still shooting him a nasty look before I turned back to the girl. "He's got a girlfriend," I informed her, my intentions more than slightly malicious. Almost as an afterthought I added, "And a boyfriend. And see, the boyfriend found out about the girlfriend, and that's why Squall's got a nasty scar right in the middle of his forehead. Just thought you should know. And for Double Jeopardy, guess who his current girlfriend dumped before she started dating him..."

"Zell, enough," Squall cut me off, trying to silence my ramblings.

I rolled my eyes. "Pfft. You're just mad 'cause I fucked Quistis back when you were screwing around with that Rinoa girl. Let me tell ya, 'Squally,' she liked it, she liked it a lot."

He dropped me. Probably should've seen that coming. Not that falling on my ass on the concrete stairs right outside of a jail really registered; I was laughing my ass off by the time I hit the ground and soon I couldn't stop. I was literally about to bust a rib, I went at it so hard.

When I finally calmed a little, I stared up at the two of them looking down at me. The girl's gaze was tainted with mild interest, and Leonhart had his arms crossed over his chest, shooting daggers at me with his eyeballs. The two of them were framed against a picturesque background, with the stars and the moon shining bright above them. I realized suddenly that they looked good together, just like Squall always looked good with every girl who ever showed an interest in my well being.

My cheesiest grin still in place, I decided to share a little of my early morning wisdom with the two of them, absolutely _positive_ it would benefit them to hear it.

"Now look at you, Squall. You're so pissed at me because of what I may or may not have done with your girlfriend. You'd never think I should be pissed at you, since you were the one who stole her from me in the first place. I didn't realize it until too late, but I was a dog for those girls. I was too young to understand that every single one of them was just passing me around like a party favor until the man of their dreams, whether it be you, or Irvine, or that motherfucking bastard Seifer, came around. You know what? You all got what you wanted. You all found somebody. Then the only fucking person I ever had was murdered by people trying to get at me, to get at all of us for God knows what reason.

"And then when I changed, when I stopped pretending to be some hyper-active retard who could withstand anything, and still be happy about everything, you had me fucking committed! You kicked me the hell out of Garden for psychological reasons before I could quit, and you ruined my fucking life! I can't get a good job, because on my record it says I'm a goddamn skitzo! And do you know why you did it, Squall? I'll tell you why you fucking did it! You had me committed because you were afraid Quistis would leave you for me, just like Rinoa left you for Seifer!" I was screaming. Lying on my back on the steps outside the police station, and screaming my lungs out at the guy I used to consider my best friend.

Kids, this is why drinking is stupid. The stuff just absolutely reeks havoc on your social life.

When I'd said enough, I just laid there quietly, afraid if I said any more I'd end myself back up in prison, or worse—I'd start crying. I get emotional like that sometimes. Alcohol plus thinking about my mom just never mixed well for me. See, I have a mental complex where I think her death was my fault. Which, it was...

The shrinks could never get my head sorted out for me. I don't even try.

"Quistis sent me to find you tonight, Zell. Said she had a bad feeling about you. She wanted me to talk to you about coming back. Some people think you might be ready, but I can see you're not. I'm going to go home now and tell her that you're not ready, and you never will be."

"You do that," I snapped coldly, hoping that the glare I shot him was as frosty as I felt inside.

"I'll take him home," Marlene instantly offered before Squall could think about trying to get a refund on his bail money. She crouched down next to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'll take him home..."

Squall sighed. "Whatever," he said, before turning to walk away.


End file.
